Month: April 2021

 I tell you what.  I was going to use this article to whine about the ugly houses that are springing up in my area.  But, spring is too beautiful a season to whine about ugly houses.  I’ll do that in a later article.

 On my way to a medical appointment, this morning, I had occasion to look – really look – at what has been developing in our spring air.  Yesterday, Bryan started clearing the flower beds in the front yard to make way for this year’s vegetation. There is still way too much grass that has encroached into the beds, but removing it will need to wait a week or so.

Earth Day 2021 is Thursday, April 22.  My granddaughter Rose wrote this month’s poem for Earth Day 2019.  I decided it was better than anything that I could write.    Marj

Still There

A glacier moves across a plateau.
It flattens the land until it comes to a halt, bringing a rock with it.  Then it recedes.
But the rock is still there.

The snow and ice give way to a cycle of seasons; warm and rainy, hot and humid, cool and breezy, cold and dry.
With each step in the cycle, the plants and animals grow, then flourish, then die.
But the rock is still there.

Note:  I’ve included a few outdoor spring flowers for your enjoyment!

Last September, when I began writing this blog, I promised that religion and politics would not be part of it.  Well, this blog does have some religion in it.  But, it is mine, alone.  There is no proselytizing, here, I promise.  There used to be an ice-breaker game that people played at the beginning of a conference or workshop.  “Who are you in three statements,” was the challenge.  Since middle age, my answer has always been:  “I am a child of God.  I am a wife and parent, and, now, a grandmother.  And, I am an educator.”

My calendar says that spring started this last week, but if I look in my front yard, the winter snow is still there.  The tulips and crocus Bryan planted last autumn are still tucked in their beds.  Waiting for warmer weather, I suppose..

About this time of year, I like to bring a little spring into the house.  Not from a hot house.  Or the grocery story plant department.  I bring sticks into my house.  Sticks that I cut from the quince bush.  At this time of year, they are just dead sticks.  Brown, apparently with no life in them.  I have to be careful cutting the sticks – they have inch or inch-and-a-half thorns on them and can really hurt the old paper skin on my hands and arms.  Those rose gloves that I’ve talked about help, keeping my hands and arms safe.